


A Defensive Matter

by Rhiw



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Dwarves, Bounder!Bilbo, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual BAMF!Bilbo, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Hobbits at War, Homosexuality, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkness is stirring everywhere in Middle-Earth and the Shire is no exception. With wolves and spiders and other foul things crossing the Bounds, Bounder Bilbo Baggins is sent to Bree with the hopes to find a Ranger or Bree-Hobbit to train the woefully unprepared Shire Bounders in the matter of defense. Instead he finds dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bounder's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on Fanfiction.net under Name1.
> 
> Appendix of Terms at the end if you need it.

**Rethe 14, 1327 SR (Shire Reckoning)**

****Súlimë 14, 2927 SDR (Steward's Reckoning)** **

**The East Farthing**

On nights like tonight, Bilbo often doubted his own sanity.

He called it the Took-Baggins issue. What his Took-side loved, his Baggins-side hated and vice versa. And right now, his Baggins-side was screaming at him. What could have possibly driven him to think that joining the Watch had been a good idea? Right now he could be safe and warm in Bag End with Father, not picking his way around puddles and large piles of soggy manure, drenched to the bone and teeth chattering, sneaking about with his lantern dimmed to a secret meeting.

He was only four years into his six year term on the Watch, but Bilbo was already feeling run ragged. It was his own fault – he was the one who'd insisted on being put on the duty roster of two different districts. It was an action the young hobbit failed to quite think through, for while the dual armbands may garner him a rather impressive amount of respect from his peers (and made him very pleased of himself, truth be told), it also meant twice the work. Bilbo had never felt prouder then when he'd received his district armbands – orange, for East Farthing proper where Bag End was, and purple, for Buckland. It was more than a little unusual to have two bands so early in one's carrier, but there were some perks to being related to almost every major political figure in the Shire.

He'd felt, like most young things venturing into adulthood, that he was ready to take on the world. That first full year of active duty split between serving along the High Hay and bounding the East Farthing had rubbed the green off of him rather forcefully, though.

For a non-Buckland Bounder, the job was pretty easy. Outside of the threat of a few drunken brawls or the even rarer theft, a Bounders' job was limited to policing and maintaining a visible presence. There was the occasional Outsider that they had to turn away or interrogate (usually a Ranger or two, whom the Bounders were very fond of, or dwarves making their way to or from the Blue Mountains down the Old East Road, who the Bounders were not as fond of) though Bilbo himself had never run into any of the Big Folk himself.

Bilbo was happy enough being a Bounder. Roaming the wide open fields and rolling hills of the Shire was more than enough for his Tookish spirit. He liked his time in the fields with nothing but the stars and the wind to keep him company. It made him even more queerer then he apparently already was, as any sane to-do hobbit with his family connections would have only joined governmental service if they were aiming for a Sheriff or Postman position in one of the larger towns, and then perhaps eventually run for Mayor. They certainly did not carry about sleeping in barns and skulking about in people's back yards!

It also served the additional purpose of irritating his father something terrible, which was a definite plus indeed.

The two had rarely gotten along since his mother's passing. His mother, Belladona, was a Took through and through. Though she had placed aside her adventurous ways once she'd married Bilbo's father, mischievousness was in her blood. Perhaps that was why she'd decided to climb the party tree, perhaps not. Too much Fallohide was certainly the commonly accepted belief around Hobbiton, anyway.

Either way it had left his father a broken man with a very young hobbit-babe. Bungo Baggins loved his son, of this Bilbo had little doubt, but the man was not the same after he'd found his wife lying at the bottom of the party tree like a broken-necked bird. The decision to send Bilbo to summer with his mother's sister in Buckland was made quick enough – Mirabella had been the closest to Belladona out of the Old Took's twelve children.

It did little to repress his Took blood, much to the Baggins' family horror, and one summer turned into several before he'd finally returned to Bag End. When he had returned home, it was to a father he barely knew. The young hobbit rather believed it was the way he lost his wife that made Bungo so against the idea that his son would have any type of excitement in his life; and not a day went by of his childhood that his dear father didn't try to stomp out his Tookish-ness. If Bungo had his way, Bilbo would have been a bookbinder or a candle-maker or a simple gentlehobbit of leisure – they certainly had the wealth to do so after all.

Yet Bilbo had wanted to be a Bounder since he was five years old, when he'd first seen one. Bilbo could remember it like yesterday; he was sitting on the thick, plushy lap of his Aunt Mirabella, it was summer and Buckland was sweltering. He chewed on a sweetened rag soaked with sugar and watched as his uncle stood about a large map, (how glorious Gorbadoc Brandybuck had looked there!) every inch the Master of Buckland as he doled out directions. Gorba seemed almost like a hero from one of the books his mother had read to him, clad in light linen breeches and a padded jack, a dark purple band wrapped around his forearm, an axe on his left hip and a wooden baton on his right. Hobbits surrounded him, each with a purple band, pouring over the map and gesturing wildly to the Hedge behind them.

Even when he visited his Took cousins in Tookland, the little Hobbit had never seen anything like it.

Bilbo didn't remember much of what was said (he was five, after all, which is very young for a Hobbit indeed) but Bilbo could remember the hushed tones and worried looks between his aunt and her sister-in-laws. It had something to do with the Hedge and the walking trees and of course years later the youngest Baggins would learn that it had everything to do with the creeping trees, that the frantic planning was the precursor to the great burning that created Bonfire Glade.

Even at five, Bilbo knew about the High Hay, a great hedge that protected Buckland from the wild Old Forest. He could remember the first time he set his eyes on the mammoth thing. He'd been in his Uncle Gorbadoc's arms, clinging tightly around the older Hobbit's neck as he watched with wide eyes as various hobbits trimmed and maintained the Hedge with a precision that would have left the Gamgee or Gardners with envy. It was thick and tall, and ran for seemingly as far as the eye could see.

He'd asked his Uncle then, in his broken child-Hobbitish, if he could go see what was on the other side someday.

 _'Too much Took in you m'boy, not that that's a bad thing, mind you,'_ Uncle Gorba had chuckled, _'though I dare say Bungo will disagree with that. But there are far too many things over there that would like to eat little hobbits, you know. You have to grow up big and strong, and even then, you have to have one of these,'_ he'd gestured to the purple band and then and there, Bilbo declared that he would become a Bounder.

Safely tucked away in Hobbiton at Bag End, Bilbo would not hear of the trouble that was taking place in Buckland until almost five years later, when he'd been sent there to live. He'd been aware, as was everyone who lived in Buckland, that the Old Forest was a queer, ill place. If one stood close enough to the Hedge on a windless day you could hear whispers floating about, and it was not uncommon for the tree's themselves to move; a white-scorched pine maybe just within sight one day and the next – gone, as if it was never there. None of this was believed in the Shire as a whole of course, and Bucklanders were viewed as very odd, marked with an urge for eccentrics and foolishness that matched if not surpassed that of the equally unconventional Took family.

But things were changing about the Shire – and not for the better.

It began with the Old Forest. A strange darkness settled itself in the wood, and stranger creatures came from within. Spiders the size of fully grown hobbits could sometimes be spotted skittering across the wood line. Wolves came, darker in color and far more intelligent than any the Shire had dealt with before, finding their way around the Hedge and trickling into the South Farthing.

Buckland and the South Farthing were becoming a dangerous place to walk about after dusk and it seemed that soon Bucklanders would not the only ones locking their doors at night. The number of Bounders had doubled over the last four months – the enlistment tripling within Buckland alone, such was required to maintain the no-man's land between the Forest and the Hedge. But the heart of the Shire – the North, East and West Farthings, remained secure.

A Bounders job was not very popular despite its decent pay, as it required a certain sacrifices of a hobbit that few were willing to give. This lack of willing applicants (which had allowed Bilbo to successfully secure a job the moment he'd turned thirty-three) was proving to be a real issue at the moment; they needed more on the Watch. And they did not just need greater numbers, no, they needed some sort of actual training. The youngest Baggins was proud to say he was a fair-shot with the slingshot that hung from his waist, and he'd actually used his dogwood baton (a rarity amongst the Bounders) on Vido Noakes when the hobbit had nearly killed Biffo Smallburrow after he'd found him rutting with his daughter behind his toolshed. Bilbo still shuddered when he thought of the amount of the blood that had come streaming from Vido's head wound. However, he wasn't naïve enough to think that he had any actual combat training. Nothing that would actually be able to handle the dangers that were making their way into their boundaries.

The Rethe rain held the icy touch of early spring and Bilbo shuddered, yanking the lip of his hood further over his face. Grumbling to himself about the foolishness of Took pride, he nimbly jumped over a small drainage stream and almost cried in relief as he saw the faint glow of his destination. As he grew closer, he could see the hooded figure of a Bounder, leaning heavily on his lantern-pole. The poles were standard issue for Bounders – long and thin with a fire-hardened tip, they were originally to be used as spears but as the need for such things disappeared, they become nothing more than over-sized holders for the Watch lanterns.

Bilbo called out a greeting and was greatly cheered when it was returned by the familiar voice of his cousin Rorimac Brandybuck. "Bilbo!" Rory exclaimed loudly, his lantern swinging slightly as the younger hobbit slapped him heartily on the shoulder. "Absolutely dreadful night for a secret meeting, isn't?"

Bilbo grumbled in agreement, rubbing his sore shoulder before joining his cousin in leaning heavily on his lantern-pole. "I don't see why it has to be so secret," He stated crossly, "all this sneaking about will come to no good end, mark my words."

"Ah don't be such a spoil sport, cousin."

Rory, who also shared a Took mother and was a Brandybuck to boot, probably thought this was all kinds of fun. Bilbo and his Baggins's side, however, did not. This was indeed a secret meeting, one that could easily cost them their jobs. Perhaps not Rory's – he was the Master-in-Standing to Buckland, it wouldn't do to have him kicked off the Buckland Bounders, now would it? But he was just a Baggins – and a Baggins whose influential father was just looking for a way to get him removed from the police force at that. Bilbo had been careful to toe the line, yet here he was.

At a secret meeting.

In the rain.

_In the dark._

A burst of lightening made him shriek in a very embarrassing way, eyes large as dinner plates as it lit up the hills to the left. Rory just chuckled at his reaction and told him to 'pull out your Tookish-ness, lass, you'll most likely be needing it soon enough.'

That earned his cousin a particularly venomous glare.

_Damnable Tookish-ness indeed!_

It wasn't much later after that that the others started to arrive.

His other cousin, Sigismond Took, arrived first looking mostly dry and content as Tookburrow was only a few miles away as the crow flies, and his cheerful 'hello!' was rewarded with nasty looks by the soggy duo. Holman Hayward arrived next, which made sense as they were meeting on the very edge of where the East and South Farthings met and Hols was stationed out of the Southern area. Younger than even Rory at thirty-three, Hols was short even for hobbit standards and generally a plain, dreary individual, of nothing of note if hadn't been for his startling bright grey eyes. He grunted at them in greeting, looking much like a wet cat with his Bounder's padded jack so drenched the pastel green of his armband seemed almost emerald.

The last to arrive was Hobson Gamgee, the oldest of them at forty-five and most senior member of the Bounders that would be participating. With twelve years of experience on the Watch and four armbands, Hobson Gamgee was a formidable man amongst the Watch. Unusually tall and broad, Hobs was greatly respected amongst the Shire-folk and was well known for suffering no-nonsense; even the Sheriffs and Mayor took pause when Hobson spoke. They were, the five of them, the most prevalent Bounders of their districts which was why they were now huddled together in the rain, exchanging low greetings and inquiries about various family members before turning their talk to darker things.

"I know ya all be wonder'n why I called ya'll here," Hobs said after a moment, the Northern Hobbitish draw of his accent more pronounced than normal. "So I won't be keep'n ya with small talk. Berty Clayhanger's gone and gotten himself eaten by a wolf." Dead silence met that comment. Bilbo exchanged a concerned look with his cousins. That would make the eighth wolf attack this month (which was cause of some concern as it was only the fourteenth!) and the first one that had led to injury, much less death. Perhaps what was more troubling was that Berty was one of them; a Northern Bounder. "Found'm up by in the hills, jus' a half-a-mile away from Long Cleeve."

Bilbo jerked in surprise. Long Cleeve was small for a hobbit village, but not that small and with enough noise and lights to scare off most wildlife. "That close to a town?"

"I told you," Rory said sharply, "the wolves we've been seeing in the Forest and 'round Buckland are far too smart. It's not normal."

"Garnett Diggle told me she'd seen three wolves sniffing around her property and she practically lives in the shadow of Green-Hill." Sig added grimly, "I dare say she can see the lights of Tuckburrow on a clear night."

'I found lob traces by the crooked tree south of Longbottom.' Hols added, shaking his head. 'A ewe, drained dry.'

"And I have heard reports of howling from Dwaling," Bilbo admitted softly, "so that makes four for four."

A heavy silence fell between the group.

"We have to go to Mayor Whitfoot." Rory announced, "things are getting dangerous."

Bilbo snorted. "Because that worked so well last time. I don't think I've had myself shooed out of tea so quickly in my life."

"We have to keep trying," the Brandybuck heir insisted, "and not just with the Mayor. With my father and the Thain, too. Crops stolen, livestock eaten – hobbits eaten! There is no way we Bounders can handle this, not with only a dozen or so of us. We have to plead our case, make them listen to us."

"It won't work,' Sig said with a decisive shake of his head, "my father and Mayor Whitfoot don't want to think that danger is coming to the Shire. Goodness, the Mayor can't even pass a new post tax without six months of consideration! No, I fear we-"

"Hobbit-folk are a stubborn lot," Hobson interrupted, his low voice carrying despite the heavy pitter-patter of the rain, "it'd take a nasty in Michel Delving or Hobbiton before the old ones 'ccept that."

"Even if they did, what would we do?" Bilbo asked, gesturing to the group as a whole, "we're hobbits, hardly mighty warriors. So we need more training, do we? Where exactly do you intend to find that in the Shire?"

"Baggins is right," Hobs said with a grim nod, "which is why we'll have to leave the Shire." That earned the tall hobbit various different cries of disbelief. "Oh keep yer pants on," the Gamgee said to a sputtering Bilbo with a snort of disdain. The Gamgee clan had been working hobbits all their lives, the Baggins could hardly say the same, and Bilbo often felt other's dislike for his class. "I was only say'n up to Bree. Surely those Bree or Straddle-Hobbits mus' know sumthin' more about defend'n than us Shire-folk."

"Or maybe meet up with one of those Rangers," Rory agreed, brown eyes practically alight with excitement. "Do you remember when we used to say we were going to go adventuring in Bree, Bilbo?"

"Yes," Bilbo hissed, "but we were eleven and I also seemed to recall you swearing up and down we'd be the first to map the Old Forest. Don't be getting ahead of yourself."

"But you don't deny it's a good idea?" Rory pressed and Bilbo groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. It was not only a very good idea but their only one – he did not fancy being eaten during his patrol. But still, Bree was more than a bit further away then he'd ever had any desire to go. But was only a week or so walk down the Old East Road to the Bree-lands, and there _was_ a group of Took cousins that had settled there that he had always sort of wanted to meet.

"Aye," Bilbo admitted slowly, "it's a fair one. Though I must say such a thing will most likely cost us our commissions. Willy Whitfoot maybe many things, but forgiving isn't one of them. He won't be liking us going behind him like this."

"I dunno 'bout you, Master Baggins, but I ain't willing to let any more of us lot turn into dinner for no wolfy or lob." Hobson stated gruffly.

Bilbo could not argue with that and only nodded but still, oddly, felt like he must remain the sole voice of reason here. "We must go in a group, at the very least!"

"Aye, as many of us as can be managed." Rory thankfully agreed, "and the sooner the better."

In the end it was decided that only three of them would go, while the other two would stay behind and put pressure on the Mayor, prepping the way for when they would hopefully return with a Bree-Hobbit or a big folk. As nothing would convince Holman Hayward to leave the Shire proper and Sig's father, the Thain, kept a closer eye on his wild children then even Bungo did with Bilbo, the trio consisted of Rory (though Bilbo argued against it, as Rory was only a few years into his majority and very young but as usual, the Master-in-Standing got his way and was included), Hobson, and himself. Bilbo felt somewhat better at Hobs' inclusion, as the hobbit was a force to be reckoned with indeed, and they all agreed to meet at the Bounder's supply hut by the three farthing stone in three days. That would give them enough time to come up with some excuse for their families (or in Bilbo's case, a convincing lie) and be taken off the duty roster. Bilbo himself still felt torn; he knew that this was necessary, that they were in dire need of assistance – that the whole of the Shire's health may be relying on him getting to Bree – but a large part of the poor Baggins found all he really wanted to do was hide-out in his bedroom at Bag End and pretend this nonsense wasn't happening.

Yet still, he found himself outside the hut at daybreak, a traveling pack on his back and his stomach so a mess Bilbo hadn't been able to have any breakfast at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appendix I:
> 
> Arda - Name of Middle-Earth
> 
> Big Folk: Usually Men or Elves, but can refer to any race not a Hobbit.
> 
> Bonfire Glade: An event that has no date, but we know it took place before the FOTR. The trees of the Old Forest attacked the High Hay in an attempt to tear it down and spread into Buckland. The wide spread of dead land carefully maintained by the Buckland Bounders is called the Bonfire Glade.
> 
> Bounders: Police Hobbits who wander the borders of the Farthings. Each wear an armband denoting what district they have authority in/are stationed out of. Usually where they live. North Farthing – Blue Band, West Farthing – Red Band, South Farthing – Green Band, East Farthing – Orange Band, Buckland (technically a part of East Farthing but independently policed) – Purple.
> 
> East Road/Old East Road: A road that cuts through the Shire and heads towards Bree, which was East of the Shire. Used often by dwarves coming to or from the Blue Mountains (west of the Shire), as well as the occasional elf making their way to the Grey Havens which was also located to the west of the Shire.
> 
> Fallohide: According to the Tolkien Gateway:
> 
> "While the other two branches (Stoors and Harfoots) of hobbit-kind were pastoral and rustic in nature, the Fallohides retained a hunting tradition, and so were naturally bolder and more inquisitive than their relatives, but less gifted in the arts of farming and agriculture. As Fallohidish culture was much more open to outside influence than that of the Stoors or Harfoots, they were friendlier with the other races of Middle-earth than their cousins, especially with the Elves. Perhaps because of this, they were skilled in both song and speech, and were lovers of trees and of woodlands."
> 
> Tooks, Bolgers and Brandybucks are in particular considered Fallohideish, while Stoors (Hobbits who liked to swim, fish and use waterways) are found mainly in the Buckland and Bree clans. Gollum probably was originally a Stoorish Hobbit once. The majority of hobbits in the Shire are descended from the Harfoots, who liked hills and highlands and were mostly farmers and of a shier breed, they took their bolder cousins as leaders.
> 
> Farthing: The Shire is quartered into different parcels of land, or farthings, North, South, West, and East. The Three-Farthing Stone was a stone by the side of the East Road that showed where the borders of the East, West and South Farthings met. It was either near or on the center of the original Shire boundaries and was placed down at the official end of the Hobbit's Wandering Days.
> 
> High Hay or the Hedge: A well maintained hedge, thick and very tall, that protects the edges of Buckland from the Old Forest.
> 
> Hobbitish: Dialect of Westron spoken by the Hobbits of the Shire.
> 
> Master of Buckland: One of the three political powers of the Shire. Headed by the Brandybuck family, based out of Buckland.
> 
> Mayor of Michel Delving: One of the three political powers of the Shire, elected by the Shire as a whole every seven years at Lithe, during the Free Fair on the White Downs. Held the position of the First Sheriff, and was the commander of the Watch, as well as being the Postmaster.
> 
> Michel Delving: As close to a capital you're gonna find in the Shire.
> 
> The Old Forest: An ancient forest that predates Hobbits or Men's presence. Used to be as wide and grand as Fangorn forest. Contains all kinds of nastys, including the awake trees (Hurons) who are not very fond of Hobbits and willingly attack them should any be stupid enough to wander inside.
> 
> Outsiders: Anyone not of the Shire.
> 
> Padded jack: A gambeson (defensive jacket), a padded shirt made out of linen or wool, sowed in a quilted pattern and stuffed with various things such as scrap cloth or animal hair.
> 
> Rethe/Súlimë: Equivalent of March.
> 
> Shire Reckoning (SR): Calender used in the Shire.
> 
> Steward's Reckoning (SDR): Calender used in Gondor.
> 
> Took: An old Hobbit family which has holdings in Tookland. The Thainship, a position of some political power, is held by the Took family. They contain a very strong Fallohidsih strain in their blood, which makes them more prone to adventures and such other things most Hobbits consider nonsense.
> 
> Thain: One of the three political powers in the Shire.
> 
> The Watch: The only police force in the Shire, it was divided into two different groups. The Sheriffs, twelve hobbits responsible for 'Internal Work,' and the Bounders, who wandered the borders of the Farthings. Under the direct authority of the Mayor of Michel Delving.
> 
> Westron: The common tongue of Middle-Earth. Hobbits speak a dialect of this caused Hobbitish, which in turn has its own divisions amongst the different Farthings.


	2. The Road to Bree, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes:
> 
> Most of this language will be in Westron, which is represented here by English. But sometimes other Tolkien languages will make an appearance. 
> 
> This may be a bit confusing at first, but it'll become clearer. When being spoken by those who speak it, a language will appear as English, framed by a symbol to denote its being spoken in another language. 
> 
> "Westron"  
> »Khuzdul«  
> *Iglishmêk*  
> ~ Elvish ~
> 
> However, when being overheard by someone who doesn't speak said language, it will be displayed in the actual language. This will most likely never happen with Khuzdul, as the vocab is way too small for me to make sentences and Dwarves don't speak it around non-Dwarves. So, Khuzdul will always be represented by English in this fic, denoted by »«. Similarly, Iglishmêk is a sign language, so it will always be in English as well. There is enough of Elvish for me to use a fan made translator, so Elvish will be present. I will also be using a mix of Scottie and what little Westron words Tolkien made to create the Westron dialect Hobbitish, that the Hobbits speak. 
> 
> For example:  
> Westron (English): "Hello. My name is Bilbo Baggins."  
> Hobbitish (Scottie mixed with Westron): 'Awrite. Mah nam is Bilba Labingi."  
> Elvish (Mostly Sindarin): ~Gi suilon. I eneth nîn Bilbo Baggins~  
> Iglishmêk (Dwarvish Sign Language): *Hello. My name is Bilbo Baggins.*
> 
> Given that Bilbo speaks Westron and Elvish fluently, I promise this isn't as intimidating as it may seem. Hobbitish will only be read as the mix of Scottie and Westron words when the Dwarves are hearing them speak it, and most Hobbits are fluent in Westron as well. 
> 
> ...er..questions?

 

****Rethe 17, 1327 SR  
** **

**Súlimë 17, 2927 SDR**

**The Old East Road**

**"** I've a thought," Bilbo announced as he stood unsteadily before the lip of the Brandywine Bridge, both hands grasping his pack's straps in a death grip, "why don't we just send a letter out?"

From where he was busy chatting up the guards to the North Gate of Buckland, Rory paused and shot him an incredulous look. "A letter...really, cousin?"

Bilbo's had the decency to blush heavily at that, especially at the less-then-amused look Hobson Gamgee sent him, knowing just as the Bounders did that there was no post between Bree and the Shire, but a hobbit had to try, didn't he? His stomach was all a-knot, rebelling around the honey-walnut biscuits that Daffy Gamgee had made for them.

It had taken them almost three days to get to the East Bound of the Shire and that was about how long it had taken for Bilbo to convince himself this was all some terrible mistake they were making. But he had given his word not only as a Bounder but as a Hobbit, so he daren't let himself pull out. That and Rory was damned and determined to go, and as the younger hobbit was a brother to him in every way, that pretty much left him with his hands tied.

The bright spot was they'd gained a fourth; Holman Hayward had surprised them all by waiting for them by the gate, packed and ready to go, as well as accompanied by a massive apricot mastiff, the hound easily coming up to the tiny hobbit's shoulders. When asked about his sudden appearance, Hols had simply shrugged and stated that he couldn't leave Hobson (whom he was a second cousin) alone with such company if he ever wanted to see him again, especially as the Gamgee family had grown a few year prior with the birth of Hamfast. Rather than be slightly offended by the remark, Rory had simply laughed and told the young Hobbit his Bolger-side was showing something awful.

Bilbo was far too relieved to have another Bounder (and said Bounder's massive bear-like dog, ironically named Tiny) joining them.

"Come on then, Baggins," Hobson said gruffly from his side, taking him by the elbow, "best to just do it all at once with these kind of things," and all but escorted him across the bridge.

Rory hollered a farewell to the various Bucklanders who had gathered to watch them go by the North Gate, all fairly aghast they were leaving the Shire at such a miserable time and much convinced they'd not be seen again. Each step they took away from the Bounds filled Bilbo with an unquenchable excitement and unbearable terror. But as they made slow but sure progress down the paved and well-beaten path that was the East Road, with the sun shining warmly on their faces and wildflowers dotting the country side fresh and awake from the spring rains, the Baggins found his fear slowly ebbing and gained a spring to his step.

They fell into cheerful chatter, looking quite the bunch as they walked; talking endlessly with their matching liripipe hoods and shoulder capes, robin egg blue padded jacks making them appear like a line of walking, chittering bluebells, their swinging lanterns the bonnets cap. This made them all quite happy, for if there was one truth about Hobbits (that is besides the fact that they love to eat and smoke and till good earth) it was that they adored gossip and spent many of their hours a day indulging in the nasty habit.

"– the last time, I will not be call'n my boy 'Hammie.'' Hobs ground out, the hand holding his lantern-pole twitching.

'Why not?' Rory probed, sending a wink to a snickering Bilbo, "I think it's kind of catchy, Hammie Gaffer. Ham, Hams. Hammie-boy. What do you say, Hols, have we found a winner?"

From where he was walking, a single hand raised high and buried deep in his dog's fur, Holman shrugged. "Certainly no worst then Hamfast to begin with."

'"What?" Hobson sputtered, glaring death at the back of his cousin's head, "ya lil' traitor! Like you've got any right ta judge. Who name's a monster like tha' Tiny?"

That proved the last straw for poor Bilbo, whose heartfelt laughter sent Rory into a fit of giggles himself.

"…it was supposed to be ironic." Hols muttered after a moment, looking slightly put out at the deep laughter.

"You know," Bilbo began after the worst of the mirth had left him, "I heard the most interesting thing from your sister Primula."

Rory eyed him with no small level of suspicion. "I wasn't aware you and my sister corresponded."

"Oh yes," The Baggins said with great relish, a sharkish grin on his face as his blue eyes danced with amusement, "you know the two of us have become _such_ good friends since she married my cousin, Drogo." Rory was looking even less pleased, if that was possible. "She said she caught you and Miss Ruby Proudfoot by the byre –mph!"

His cousin had leapt forward, face beet red, and slapped both hands over the gleeful hobbit's mouth. But the damage was done.

"Ruby Proudfoot?" Hols repeated in astonishment, his head snapping around to stare at Rory in disbelief, "the _dog-faced girl_ with the lisp?"

"Oh, laddie," Hobs chuckled, "you could do much better."

"I happen to find her quite fetching," Rory snapped, crossing his arms angrily, hurriedly talking over Bilbo's not so quiet _'I bet I know what you find fetching,'_  "and I'll have you know her lisp has all but disappeared!"

That set Bilbo off again, this time with the deep guffaws of Hobson and the clear laughter of Hols joining him.

The Brandybuck heir let out a huff, "you are just the worst type of folk."

* * *

Arien drove the sun low in the sky, and as the golden orb left, so did the small group's good mood. This was to be their first real night in the wild.

They managed to find a thick brake that had a narrow bower towards its center and Hobson used his axe to hue a hole just big enough for a hobbit to climb through without a pack and it was luck alone that made Tiny fit. The hope was that the prickly thicket would keep the monsters of the wildlife away from while they slept. They didn't dare make a fire, not with the way attercrops were drawn to such things, but the spring air was warm enough that they did not truly need one. They broke the night into four watch shifts with the first, much to Hols irritation, going to the youngest as they were awake for most of it anyway. The four of them lay almost flank to flank, head to heel, in the small hallow and spoke in soft tones as the moon rose higher and higher in the night sky.

"I must admit I have my reservations with this plan." Hols admitted from where he was nestled into his large dog's side, looking even tinier and younger against the beast. "What if we find no-one amongst the Bree or Straddle kin?"

"There is always a Ranger or two in Bree." Bilbo said matter of fact. At Hols' raised eyebrows he corrected himself, scratching the side of his nose in embarrassment, "well, that's what I've heard anyway."

"And if there isn't?" Hols asked softly. "If we can't bring anyone home? What then?"

"Worry'n 'bout all this will won't be doin'n anyone any good, lads," Hobs cut in firmly. "If we find tha' no-one can help us in Bree-land, we'll figure sumthin' out, maybe we'll have to go to the Grey Havens and ask the elves. But don't be forgetting we hobbits founded the four farthings. We had to fight for a home once, I reckon we can do it again."

There were various nods of agreement and the group fell silent. Bilbo fell asleep almost instantly, despite his fear and discomfort, and slept hard. It seemed that he had only just drifted off when Rory was shaking him awake for his turn at watch. Bilbo sat up, fingering the sharpened end of his pole-tip and fiddling with the iron fittings on the lantern, wishing dearly he could have some light, as he fought the urge to lie back down.

The young hobbit tugged at the long tip of his hood around, chewing on it in a manner that would have gotten him smacked if his father was around to see it, and pressed his forehead against his lantern-pole as he wearily watched the dark forest around them. It seemed that dark places truly inspired dark thoughts and before Bilbo knew it, he was thinking heavily on the conversation they'd had before he'd drifted off.

Hobson words were brave, yet he had not found the comfort in them that Rory and Hols apparently had. Fighters? Hobbits? It was utter nonsense. Whatever part of their culture that had inspired their founders to carve the Shire out of the wilds, it was all but gone at this point. No, the young Baggins truly feared that if they could not find someone in Bree to rile up whatever Fallohide blood was left scattered across the Tooks and Brandybucks and Bolgers, the Shire would face true hardship for the first time since its founding.

He himself, three-fourths a Fallohide through his Took mother and paternal Grubb grandmother, was as far from a warrior as possible. Why, Bilbo couldn't even be counted as brave! He had nearly fainted the first time he even heard a wolf's howl and he'd had three years of Bounding under his belt and was safe inside a Bounding Hut at the time. With a sigh, the Baggins burrowed his chilled hands in his pockets and gazed up at what little he could see of the star studded sky. Truly, if they did not find someone to help them in Bree, then Bilbo feared…well, best to not think such things, less he set some sort evil upon himself with his grim thoughts.

But…but what would he do, if it fell to the Bounders alone to defend the Shire? How long, wondered the young hobbit, could they even last?

Bilbo shuddered.

He knew his answer well enough.

* * *

****Rethe 19, 1327 SR  
** **

**Súlimë 19, 2927 SDR**

**West Gate of Bree**

»I do not like this place,« Eydís announced, eyes narrowed as she watched the town folk scurry about in the shadow Bree-hill, her fingers twisting in the ends of her beard, »these Men have no decency about them. Shameful, really.«

From where she stood ever so slightly hidden behind the broad shoulders of a red headed dwarrowdam and the even stouter Eydís, Ori let out a soft huff. She wasn't particularly fond of the place they'd found themselves in either, but she didn't know why Lady Eydís had to point it out every few minutes. From the corner of her eye the blond could just make out Mjöll rolling her eyes at the noble-born's antics.

The Bree-folk had been giving them a wide berth since they'd made their way into the small development. They most likely wouldn't have been allowed entrance at all if had not been for some quick thinking on Mjöll's part and no small amount of bribing. Dwarves were not a liked bunch to begin with and it only doubled so when they came with a caravan. The wagon was a sign that they were travelers, homeless wanders – not adventurers or miners with deep pockets.

»Tis a good thing they treat us with such malice, Eydís.« Mjöll said evenly after a moment, » If only that it means they will keep their _distance_.«

The last word was stressed and in it Ori could feel the older dwarf's displeasure. It was rare – almost unheard – for a group of dwarrowdams such as themselves to be out and about in the wild like this, alone. Comprising of only a third or so of the population they were kept deep in the heart of dwarven settlements and far, far away from outsiders.

For a young dwarf like Ori, this was the first time she'd ever been near a different race, much less roamed about without one of her male relatives. Indeed, she wouldn't want to be anywhere near her elder brothers at the moment. At sixty-one, Ori was barely considered an adult, and the age gap between herself and brothers was considerable, with almost a hundred years between her and Nori alone. Ori's mother Sygr had always said she had been the last gift her father had given, impregnating his wife late in life.

She felt more than a little off balance without her brothers by her side, but the blonde dwarf was relieved to have her sister-in-law, Mjöll, with her. Like all dwarrowdams, the ravenette could be a fierce fighter when needed, and she had a calm nature about her that help keep order about her. Which was important because…well…because Ori tended to be over-anxious.

But if there any situation that would allow for anxiety, being stranded from the rest of their caravan was one. She wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten separated from the other wagon that held her brothers and Bifur, Bombur and Bofur, but it had something to do with that terrible storm last night. They had been a part of refugees that had settled in a small settlement north of here, scraping a living off of wild game and whatever trade could be done with the neighboring villages. Ori herself had been trained as a scribe and an artist, of all inglorious things.

But their numbers had dwindled and dwindled until only two families remained and when word hard reached them of the dwarven village that Prince Thorin had established in the Blue Mountains, it seemed the logical progression. But now they were here, in the middle of the wilder lands of men, with miles and miles to go until the Blue Mountains and – oh dear. Ori felt her hands twitch and began to rub them together, fingers counting the stitches of her knit gloves nervously as she eyed the walking men. They were dressed as males and armed to the teeth, so surely no one would be looking to take advantage of them.

A large hand clasped her fidgeting hands and Ori looked up to find Mjöll smiling kindly at her.

»Nothing to fret about,« the smith said with an affectionate squeeze, »your brothers will be strolling through those gates at any moment, sputtering off all sorts of angry rubbish about the foolishness of dwarrodams.« She gave a deep laugh, »We'll be hearing about this for months to come, just you wait and see. Nori is going to be _impossible._ «

»Oh yes, dear,« Eydís chimed in, reaching out and smoothing out the plaits in Ori's beard, »my Bifur will be here in no time. I'd like to see one of those Men tell me to keep my sticky hands to myself with him around! Why, nothing can stop my Bifur, not even-«

»- an axe to the head,« Mjöll finished dryly, »I do believe we've heard the story a few times before. From you, in fact.«

Eydís shot the other dwarf an icy glare before ho-humming, »Yes. Well. Nothing wrong with a little pride in one's husband's prowess.«

Mjöll's eyes narrowed. »And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?«

»Well my husband certainly didn't require any saving from the stocks.«

»Oh, truly? Well perhaps if Bifur could keep from destroying every orc he sees - oh wait, excuse me, did I say orc? What did the last 'orc' turn out to be, Ori?«

»Uh-«

Mjöll carried on over her stumbled reply, »Oh that's right, some poor potter's kiln. Maybe then _my_ husband wouldn't have to be so creative to restore our coffers!«

Eydís puffed up, nostrils flaring and Ori let out a groan, bringing a hand up to smack at her face in frustration at as the two dams began to argue.

It was going to be a long wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appendix II:
> 
> Arien: The Maia maiden who guides the Sun across the sky.
> 
> Brandybuck Bridge: Also called the Bridge of Stonebows, it is the main crossing of the Brandywine into the Shire along the Old East Road.
> 
> Iglishmêk: Gesture language of the Dwarves, kept secret.
> 
> Khuzdul: Language of the Dwarves, rarely spoken around outsiders.
> 
> Liripipe Hood: A hood that has a long, almost exaggerated tip. Sometimes they could be so long people would use it to wrap around the forehead, like a headband. Bilbo's only falls to about his mid-back.
> 
> North Gate: The Northern entryway to Buckland. Guarded twenty-four seven by a pair of Buckland Bounders, it rests at the start of the Brandywine Bridge with the Brandywine River on one side and the High Hay on the other.
> 
> Shoulder Cape: A cape that is only lengthy enough to cover the shoulders, a part of the breast and back area.


End file.
